


cut open my veins and see the cosmos i bleed for you

by AsunaChinaDoll



Series: honey and wildfire are the same color [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Adoption, Angst, Brotp, Canon Compliant, Din Djarin Is a Sweetheart, Din Djarin Whump, During Canon, Father-Son Relationship, Fighting Ring, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, ManDadlorian, Mando'a, Missing Scene, Parent-Child Relationship, Precious Baby Yoda, Protective Mandalorian, Rescue Missions, Single Parents, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsunaChinaDoll/pseuds/AsunaChinaDoll
Summary: The Mandalorian is a man of few words. He learns to say them anyway.OR5 times the Mandalorian doesn't say "I love you" to his child + the 1 time he does
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: honey and wildfire are the same color [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569829
Comments: 243
Kudos: 484





	1. an offering

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey hey I'm back with more content for our space boys! :D Really excited about this one, especially since it's my first 5+1 things. It's a little different than what I've written before, but I just kinda wanna explore their relationship during the timeline of the show, with some missing scenes and such. So, this fic can be read as a standalone from my past two fics. Hope you enjoy reading!!

The IG unit does not get a chance to pull the trigger. 

With a flick of the Mandalorian’s wrist, IG-11 clatters to the ground in a durasteel heap. 

The asset blinks slowly, its attention drawn to its new captor. The Mandalorian tilts his head as he holsters his blaster, taking in the asset and throwing out his earlier assumptions of the target. Nothing had prepared him for this outcome. 

The asset mirrors him, big ears becoming lopsided. Its eyes are impossibly wide, filled with curiosity as it observes the way light splinters off beskar. 

  
  
  


_The silhouette of his savior shrouds him from sunlight. He looks to the armored figure, standing at the mouth of the bunker._

_He stares._

_His heart pounds against his sternum, the roar of blood rushing in his ears drowning out the outside explosions._

**_Why is this happening?_ **

_He does not understand._

_He does not understand._

_His eyes burn with unshed tears, boiling at the rim._

  
  
  


The Mandalorian's hand lifts of its own accord, index finger stretching slowly towards the small being. It's to make sure the asset is not a threat, he tells himself. 

  
  
  


_The figure outstretches a gloved hand._

_He stares._

  
  
  


The asset eyes his finger for a moment, before it glances back to his visor. It's as if the asset is being wary of him. 

  
  
  


_The figure leans in, gently beckoning him forward with a wave of his hand._

_He hesitates._

  
  
  


He wiggles his finger, an attempt to make his silent offering more enticing. 

  
  
  


_It's okay. I won't hurt you._

  
  
  


The asset blinks, and then it reaches out. 

  
  
  


_He grabs the offered hand, small fingers wrapping around leather._

_He does not look back._

  
  
  


The Mandalorian inhales as three, little digits wrap around his own. The asset coos, squeezing his finger. 

Something in his chest shifts. Not quite a clicking into place, but rather a subtle unearthing of a nameless feeling, like a new twinkle in the sky after a star is born. 

He exhales through his nose once the asset releases him, sitting back easily into its bassinet. He nods once. 

Setting the floating bassinet to follow him, the Mandalorian turns and starts walking. 

He does not look back.


	2. a reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like posting this chapter a little early. Have a good day/night! :)

They were going to die.

He is ready, he thinks. Going out in the midst of battle is an honorable ending, a warrior's death.

Does he deserve one, after what he's done? Was any of it worth it? 

He doesn't know.

He gazes down at the child, curled over him protectively with his forearms bracing down on either side. Plasma rounds fly over their heads, getting hotter and hotter as they near their marks. His focus tunnels onto the sleeping child's face, blissfully unaware of the events that have transpired all because of him. 

He wants the child to wake up. He wants to see those dark eyes again. 

Then, the child stirs. 

The Mandalorian isn't sure what to expect. He finds himself holding his breath.

The child blinks, once, twice. Recognition comes quickly. The child's eyes light up and he smiles, little lips pursing as he coos.

_ You came back. _

The Mandalorian exhales shakily, a small smile on his face beneath his helmet. The nameless feeling explodes in his rib cage, warmth spreading through him. He cups a gloved hand over the child's head. 

_ Of course I did. _

He decides it was worth it.


	3. a compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! :))

It is quiet on the Razor Crest. 

So quiet, it brings the Mandalorian to attention. 

He flicks on the ship's autopilot and swivels around in his chair. The child is sitting on the floor, his head hanging low and his ears drooped. The blue linen blanket from Omera is pooled around his little legs. Small hands gently knead at a stuffed frog toy, hastily sewn together from Winta.

The Mandalorian sighs.

"Hey," he calls gently, his voice rippling against the quiet. The child slowly looks up, his wrinkled brows drawn together, dark eyes incredibly sad. The Mandalorian presses his lips together, feeling his heart constrict at the child's expression.

The Mandalorian stretches his arms out to the child in wordless offering. The child sniffles once before leaning forward and lifting his arms to his guardian. The Mandalorian bends at the waist and scoops the child into his lap, taking the blanket and toy along with him, and sits back in his seat. The child burrows himself against his stomach, tiny fingers gripping the side of his undershirt. 

With the toe of his boot, he gently pushes his chair from side to side, tucking the corners of the blanket a little tighter against the child.

"I know you miss your friends," he says. The child doesn't move, but he knows he's listening. "But it wasn't safe if we stayed." 

The child remains quiet. He sighs heavily, gently patting the child's back. He thinks he feels the child shift closer.

He rests his helmet back against the chair, his visor looking out into the far reaches of space. 

He is not used to being directionless. There was always the next move, the next bounty, the next planet. Anything to help the Covert, anything for the foundlings. It was simpler before, a routine he became apathetic to. Rattling pucks, snatching bounties, collecting meager credits. Ration bars, traversing through the void, ringing silence. 

Rinse, wash, repeat.

But then the child came along, and the Mandalorian was selfish for the first time.

He had thought Sorgan was a perfect fit for the child. The child was happy, he had friends, and people who would take care of him. It was a life the child deserved. One the Mandalorian could never promise.

He had let himself hope just enough. 

He had let his guard down just enough.

The echo spilling out through the trees as the blaster round disengaged beneath Cara's hand was a wake up call.

His body was hot with anger as he grounded the tracking fob beneath his heel, his jaw aching from clenched teeth. He had cradled the child close to his chest that night instead of sleeping, a raging storm beneath his skin. Anger, sorrow, sadness for the child and their circumstances billowed in his blood. Knowing they would have to leave the next day.

When he glances down to the child, his fingers twitch, having caught himself rubbing small circles against the child's back. He keeps still, only dipping his head to get a better view of the warm bundle flush against his stomach.

The child is fast asleep, completely relaxed and snores muffled. The Mandalorian exhales through his nose, and considers moving the child to the seat behind him. 

Instead, he leans forward, fingertips grabbing his datapad, before he settles. His hand returns to the child's back, soothing swirls against the worn robe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's curious, this is [how the child came in possession of the blanket](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432152) ;))))


	4. a dive

They were running low on credits.

The Mandalorian knew that taking care of children and their needs was a rather expensive affair, but the reality of it all didn't hit him until he had a child of his own to care for. 

Being on the run didn't warrant many job opportunities, so he made sure he was careful when spending his— _their_ _—_ credits, only buying the bare minimum, forgoing his necessities for the child. It came to a point where he brushed his teeth with cold water and ate half a ration bar every other day cycle, but seeing the child content was worth it.

He couldn't afford a new bassinet for the child. It wasn’t exactly a life or death scenario, but he desperately needed one. Having had a few run-ins with other bounty hunters while flying, it was only a matter of time before the child split his head open from too drastic a spin maneuver. 

Dumpster diving is a practice that is not beneath him, so in a last-ditch effort to find the child a bassinet, he finds himself in some bland scrapyard, scouring through mountains of durasteel.

Having been at it for hours now, he idly tosses aside some rusted fan blades before taking a break. He stands to full height, arching his back and groaning lowly as several joints pop into place. He rolls his shoulders, surveying the area, when he hears a small noise coming from his chest. He looks down to the child, wrapped up in an old cape-turned- _birikad,_ blinking awake from his nap.

"Afternoon, kid," he greets, running a finger along one of the child's floppy ears. The child perks up at that, tilting his head towards the familiar voice. The child coos at him. He replies, "Glad to hear you enjoyed your nap."

Allowing himself another breath, he kicks aside marred durasteel plates before shuffling on, eyes scanning for anything resembling a—

“Ah!” The child exclaims, squirming in his _birikad_. The Mandalorian sets a gentle hand against the child’s back, trying to get him to settle.

“I can’t put you down right now. When we get back to the Crest, you can—”

“Ah! Ah!” 

The child gazes at him, eyes wide, before turning his head. The Mandalorian fights a sigh, instead following the child’s line of sight. Buried beneath plasma-scarred turbines, the edge of some unknown object peeks out. Intrigued, the Mandalorian carefully steps towards it, the child cooing softly.

The Mandalorian shoves against the turbines. The durasteel groans, but barely shifts. He plants his boots against the ground and takes a breath before pushing harder, gritting his teeth. This time, the turbines give way too easily, and he has to catch himself so as not to stumble forward. The turbines creak in protest, but quickly fall out of the way to reveal a beat up bassinet. 

The Mandalorian blinks before looking down. The child’s eyes rest at half mast, and he gives a small, toothy grin at his guardian. The Mandalorian exhales through his nose, somewhat amused by the situation.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. The child nuzzles his head against his chestplate. 

The Mandalorian crouches down and lays a hand on the edge of the bassinet. He tilts his head, examining it through his visor. It has some dents and scuffs along the side, and the padding has been stripped out, but it is in decent condition. He taps a few buttons on his vambrace.

Then, the bassinet comes alive, beginning to hover in mid-air. Just as quickly, it sputters before falling back to the ground with a thunk. The Mandalorian nods. It was about what he had expected. It was nothing some rewiring wouldn’t fix. And the kid had picked it himself. 

Satisfied, the Mandalorian tucks the bassinet against his side and begins their trek back to the Razor Crest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _birikad_ = baby carrying harness :33


	5. a vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist writing one of my favorite tropes in this fandom. Enjoy! :)))))))

Technically, it was not official. 

The Armorer had designated him to act as the child’s father in all things but blood, had made them a clan of two, and he is not one to defy her. He would be lying if he said he didn’t accept it as soon as the words left her mouth. 

But according to Creed, it was not official. 

Not yet.

He knew he was stalling. It has been over a week since they broke Nevarro’s atmosphere, floating along the outskirts of oblivion, staying well under the radar. With the calm after the storm slowly lessening his bundle of nerves, it felt like every passing moment was an opportunity wasted. 

It wasn’t a matter of not wanting to do it. Far from it. He must have rehearsed the speech in his head numerous times over the course of their respite, chucking every attempt. He had to get it right; it was his job now, his purpose, to become what the child needs, and if he couldn’t even get this right, what kind of guardian would that make him?

He was stalling.

There were several moments, where he had the child’s full attention, and he would think to himself _now is the time._ But just before he could utter a word, his throat would close up, the words clogged into a hard lump, and he couldn’t speak. The moment would pass, the child would get distracted, so he’d move on, waiting, hoping for the perfect moment.

And he was stalling.

Finally, he had enough.

“Hey, little one,” he says, kneeling in front of the child and his array of toys. The child blinks up at him, big ears lifting at the sound of his voice. “Come sit over here with me, just for a few minutes. Please.”

The child coos curiously in response, and lets the Mandalorian pick him up off the floor. He sets the child down at the edge of his cot before kneeling in front of him, eye-to-eye. His gaze flits to the mythosaur pendant dangling from the child’s neck and he swallows. He feels his heart start to pound a little harder, and he steels himself, taking a deep breath. 

_Now or never._

He starts by removing his right pauldron. He cradles it in his hand, tracing a finger over the mudhorn signet. He holds it in front of the child. 

“Do you know what this is?” He asks, letting the child take it from him. The child’s eyes are wide, a small, green hand caressing their signet. “It’s a mudhorn. Like the one you saved me from, a long time ago.”

The child gurgles, like saying he remembers. The Mandalorian nods.

“Right. It was… scary. But now it means something different.”

He gently pries the pauldron from the child’s grip, setting it aside, and presses his index fingers beneath green palms. 

“The mudhorn is our signet,” he continues. “It’s the symbol of our clan. Me and you.” 

The child coos, squeezing his fingers as he gazes into his polarized visor with those starry eyes. The Mandalorian runs his thumb over the child’s dainty knuckles. _He’s so small._

“But, there’s still one last thing I have to do,” he murmurs, his voice rough. He swallows, trying to muster up courage. The child is patient, his eyes holding nothing but earnesty as his ears raise and lower with intrigue. 

It was now or never.

He opens his mouth, and Mando’a easily flows off his tongue. 

“ _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad._ ”

And now the child is his. Forever scarred on his heart.

He places his hands against his helmet. A part of him hesitates, even now, but he shakes his head and lifts. He pulls it off in one smooth motion.

He thought of several different ways the child would react. With confusion, happiness, distaste, even anger.

The child continues to surprise him.

The child’s eyes are wide, taking in his features, and he suddenly feels self-conscious and out of place. He runs a gloved hand through too long hair, exhaling slowly. The child continues to stare at him. He tries a smile.

“Hi,” he says, his voice clear of hollow feedback. At that, the child perks up, and he trills cheerfully. The child reaches for him, and he quickly sets his helmet down to take the child into his arms. The child scrambles up his chestplate, and the Mandalorian adjusts his hold to accommodate the squirmy child.

“Careful—” he manages before the child’s hands are pressed to his skin. He inhales sharply, hyper aware of the small hands exploring his face. The child babbles all the while, gently patting his forehead, his nose, his lips, the stubble along his jaw. The child grins, showing his tiny row of teeth, black eyes alight with all the stars in the galaxy. The Mandalorian smiles back.

“Yeah, this is me,” he says, slightly amused as the child runs small fingers through his hair. The child gurgles, pushing aside his bangs, and blows a raspberry. The Mandalorian breathes a laugh. He responds, “I think I need one too—”

Suddenly, his mouth is full of cloth, and he splutters. It takes him a second to realize the child is hugging his face, feeling the child nuzzle against the crown of his head. Carefully, he pries the child from him and sets him back down on his cot. 

“I think that’s enough excitement for one day, _ad'ika_.” He pulls fuzz off his tongue, trying not to think about where the child has been. The child only grins at him. He exhales and brushes a finger across the child’s ear. The child leans into his touch. He smiles.

And this child is his. 

Forever scarred on his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_ = the Mandalorian adoption vow meaning "I know your name as my child" 
> 
> Ahhh almost done! Very VERY excited to show you the last chapter ;))))))))))))))))))))))))))


	6. a clan of two, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehehehe... this kinda got out of hand. Thanks for your patience. Hope you like this! <3
> 
> :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

They take his boots first.

The Mandalorian was not conscious when they did so, but he is not unfamiliar with the process of how these particular affairs run.

The following steps are all the more detestable. Once clamping an electric shock anklet in place, they strip him of his weapons and his armor. He would be lucky if his possessions weren’t sold by the end of the day.

He is not angry. 

He is _livid_. 

The boiling of his blood masks the gradual drips of fear pooling in his gut. 

He thinks of the child.

* * *

They let him keep his helmet. 

He wasn’t sure if it was to taunt him or to keep up “character appearances” when he was inevitably called into the fighting ring. 

He should consider it a small mercy. 

He would rather have his teeth yanked from his skull.

* * *

He is shoved into the ring for his first fight. 

The stench of sweat and blood rushes to greet him. The almost animalistic roar of the crowd grates against his nerves, wanting their lust for blood satiated, and he clenches his fists.

He doesn’t want to give it to them, purely out of spite. But his opponent throws a fist and instinct kicks in.

He wins. 

The crowd cheers.

He tastes ash on his tongue.

He thinks of the child, patiently waiting for him to come home. 

He should’ve been there by now.

* * *

He does not sleep.

He paces his cell, wearing a path along the dirt. The clasp of durasteel around his ankle rattles with each step. 

He moves faster, his jaw aching from gritted teeth, doing nothing to lessen the pounding of his temples. Not for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he curls them into fists until he feels crescents carved into his palms.

His mind races with ideas, intel he’s gathered through observation alone, trying to conjure up a way of escape. He’s already been here too long.

He can not sleep.

  
  


* * *

He comes to awareness slowly, fighting heavy eyelids. 

He’s lying on the dirt on his stomach, and he coughs wetly, tasting copper. His body aches like a prodded bruise. 

_Guess I lost._

* * *

He can’t remember the last time he ate. 

Not that he could if he wanted to. 

A guard shoves a platter of grey, chunky sludge through the cell slot. The odor makes his nose wrinkle in disgust. 

He looks up to the cell across from his. A Klatooinian with beady eyes and not enough teeth slurps down the sludge greedily. Some dribbles down his jaw and stains his front.

He pushes the platter away. 

* * *

He wins some. 

He loses more.

He’s lost track of the days, the only way to count the passage of time through battles.

Seven fights.

Twelve.

Eighteen.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-five fights too long. _He has been here too long._

He thinks of the kid.

His chest aches, and he knows it’s not from the broken ribs.

* * *

His shoulder is on fire.

He grunts as he clutches his arm, craning his neck to look at the injury. Even through his tattered shirt, he can see the oblong shape of bone jutting out of place. 

It takes longer than he would’ve liked to remove his shirt, hissing through gritted teeth at the sharp stabs of pain causing his vision to blur along the edges. 

He tries to take measured breaths despite how it aggravates his ribs, assessing the damage. The ball of his humerus pokes out at an unnatural angle, visible beneath his flesh. His skin is pulled tight and swollen. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He knows what he has to do.

And it’s going to hurt like kriffing hell.

He forces himself to relax, willing his muscles to drain of tension. He inhales before slowly moving to lay across the dirt floor.

He takes deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth. The pain in his shoulder is still intense, but comparatively duller than a few moments prior. 

Achingly slow, he moves his dislocated arm to the side, forcing himself to breath despite his shoulder’s screams of protest. He moves deliberately, reaching his injured arm out and over his head, his elbow pointedly away from his side. He lifts his helmet, placing his palm beneath the nape of his neck, hair tickling against calloused skin. 

He gulps, and like ripping off a bacta patch, he shifts his bone back into place, quick and efficient. The loud pop of bone reverberates through his helmet as his vision flashes white and the taste of tangy blood floods his mouth.

Once the initial pain starts ebbing away, the relief that flows through him is quite palpable, and he exhales. 

Darkness creeps in the corners of his eyes and he lets himself sink into it.

* * *

He dreams of the child.

He would give anything to hold him.

* * *

When he comes to, he feels nothing but groggy and the dull throbs of his afflictions. He thinks he hears a voice, but they sound far away, unable to make out the words. He feels pressure on his bad shoulder, and he hisses at the spike of pain, flinching away from the touch. 

He forces his eyes to focus, seeing a person in front of him, and he grimaces. Is it time for another fight already?

Then, the person is kneeling in front of him, close enough to feel their body radiating warmth, but not touching him. His muscles tense at the close proximity, body engaging its fight mode. There’s a beeping sound, and the unwanted weight of the shock anklet disappears. He blinks in rapid succession, before recognition kicks in.

“Cara?” He murmurs, his voice hoarse.

“There we go,” she says, sounding relieved, and she sits back on her haunches. She gives him a quick, tight-lipped smile. “I’ve been lookin’ all over for you buddy.”

“How…?” The Mandalorian trails off, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that it’s Cara in front of him. 

Suddenly, the walls start to shake, dust and dirt raining down on their heads. Cara doesn’t seem fazed by it, but the corners of her mouth tighten. 

“I’ll explain later,” she replies, taking his uninjured arm and slinging it over her shoulders. “We gotta go.”

He barely has time to brace himself before Cara’s dragging him up off the floor. He stifles a groan at the pull of his injuries, but he manages to stay upright. Cara bends down and all of a sudden there’s cloth being tossed over his helmet. A very distant part of himself is embarrassed as Cara wrangles his shirt on for him, but he ignores it. 

Satisfied, Cara says, “Ready?” 

They take one step forward and he almost falls at the pain scorching up his veins from his ankle.

“Sorry,” he mutters to her. “Forgot. Sprained m’ ankle…”

He was going to tell her when, but he realized he wasn’t sure how long ago it was. 

The walls shake again, and there are shouts from the other prisoners in the surrounding cells.

“Don’t worry about it, Mando,” Cara responds, tugging forward, urgent. “Just—I got you, c’mon.”

He can’t tell if she sounds exasperated, nervous, or both, but he nods appreciatively. 

The trip out is a bit of a blur. He tunnels his focus on moving one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily against Cara. Before he knows it, fresh air is hitting his lungs and a cool breeze cuts through his clothes. He sighs.

He glances over his shoulder, seeing smoke billow into the night sky, and feels the ghost of a smile on his lips. He’ll have to repay Cara for this, somehow.

Cara leads them through a small village road, towards the town’s docking bay. No one seems to pay them any mind, but he thinks it may be Cara’s withering glare. He limps beside her, pushing through the pain at every brushing of her side against his bruised ribs.

He tries asking again, “How’d you find me?”

“I entered _utreekov_ into my navigation system and it took me here,” she teases, shooting him a side-eyed glance as they keep marching forward. The Mandalorian sighs, partially tired and partially amused.

“Should’ve never taught you that.” 

“Karga sent me here on a job,” she starts, a little more serious, as they beeline for a ship he can only assume is hers. “Meant to intercept a contact at an underground auction. Guess what I found instead?”

He feels her eyes on him as he clenches his jaw. 

“Kriffing stars, your armor’s worth a fortune,” she mutters. She’s quick to answer his next question, “It’s on my ship. Easier to steal from the buyer than bidding.”

The ramp to her ship lowers and they scramble on board. She sets him down on the nearest bench before moving to the cockpit. He wraps a loose arm around his burning ribs, spotting his armor in a neat pile in the corner. A small part of him unfurls at the sight, but he can’t fully relax until—

“Where’s the little guy?” Cara asks from the cockpit, and he swallows against the fierce need to see his boy as the ship powers up. He stands, using the wall for support, and shuffles to the cockpit. He leans against the co-pilot’s chair.

“At the Crest,” he answers. 

_Stars_ , he missed the kid. All he wants to do now is see his boy’s sweet, little face.

“You remember where you parked?” 

“Yes.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long to reach the forest clearing where he parked the Crest. Upon seeing the familiar shine of durasteel, there’s a sharp pang of _home_ behind his sternum.

Cara parks nearby as he finishes strapping on the last piece of his armor. He knows he’ll have to strip down later to care for his injuries, but he couldn’t get the familiar cocoon of beskar on fast enough. The weight of it grounds him, and another piece of _home_ shifts into place. But there’s still one last thing he needs.

His ankle throbs, and Cara wordlessly offers assistance, to which he nods in thanks. The ramp lowers and they exit the ship.

They walk around the front of the Razor Crest, and he studies it, nothing seemingly out of place. Thank the stars there aren’t any Jawas on this planet, he thinks. 

As they near the entrance, he picks up his pace, Cara in stride with him. He’s breathing hard and his leg is killing him, but the kid is so close and he can’t afford to stop now. 

They round the corner and he feels his blood run cold. 

The gangplank is down, the lower deck wide open. He feels himself stiffen, paralyzed by the way fear grips him in a tight coil, making his insides twist painfully.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t opened before,” Cara mutters, her tone grave.

But he didn’t hear her. Instead he wrenches himself from Cara’s grip, staggering forward. He thinks maybe Cara calls for him, but he ignores her as he reaches the edge of the ramp, barreling inside.

“Kid?!” He shouts. “ _Ad’ika_! I’m home!” 

There is no little coo, or deep, black eyes that reflect the galaxy staring up at him, yearning to be held.

There is nothing.

His heart drops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _utreekov_ = idiot, fool
> 
> Sorry not sorry. Lemme know what you think :))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
> 
> Thanks so much to my beautiful beta reader and waifu [shut-up-andlisten](https://shut-up-andlisten.tumblr.com/)! Give her a follow ^^


	7. a clan of two, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh here it is!! The last chapter. Finally made it through. And without further ado, hope you enjoy :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

“I don’t want to leave you, _ad’ika_ ,” the Mandalorian says, gently scratching behind his ear. The child stares up at him, taking in his father’s face, and he subconsciously leans into his father’s warm palm. His eyes soften and his lips thin into a line. He continues, “But I will feel better knowing you’re here.”

The child coos, a little sad, small hands clutching the material of his father’s pants. 

“I’ll be back before you know it.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. 

Then, his father bends down and presses a kiss against the child’s fuzzy head. The child’s heart warms at the display of affection, and he presses himself as close as he can. His father pulls away, and the child’s eyes shine up at him with adoration. Something flashes across his father’s face, something the child can’t read in his eyes. He receives a gentle pat on his wrinkled forehead. 

“Be good.”

* * *

The child misses his father.

His father had explained it to him once, why sometimes he would have to be away. And the child understood, with more comprehension in his intelligent eyes than any child should have. 

It does not change the longing he has, burrowed deep in his little ribcage. 

The child may not fully perceive the concept of time, only that much of it has passed, and his father is not home yet.

The child is becoming antsy, sitting in the corner of his father’s cot. None of his toys can hold his attention anymore, and making things float above his head has lost its charm. 

He misses his _buir_.

* * *

A selfish, less understanding part of the child—the part like wispy tendrils along the outskirts of his mind that remembers instability and lost caregivers and rough hands—wishes his father never left. 

Surely, he will come back. He said he would, and that is the closest to a promise the child has.

* * *

The child has had many caregivers over the course of his life. 

Some were nice.

Some were not.

His father is the kindest of them all.

The child really doesn’t want to lose him.

* * *

_Patience_ , the Force whispers to him.

Buir _will come back_ , he tells himself.

He won’t accept anything less.

* * *

The suns have passed over the viewport more times than he can count on one hand. 

Hunger growls and gnaws at his belly. 

He really misses his father.

* * *

The child decides to take matters into his own hands. 

He is terribly hungry, having chewed on the corner of his blanket until the edges frayed. He reasons to himself that leaving the ship to get a snack is not a bad thing. His father never said he _couldn’t_ leave if he had to. 

And maybe he’ll find his father along the way, too. The child would really like to see him.

He waddles up to the ladder leading to the cockpit. He stares up at the rungs, tall and steep, and he squints his eyes in determination. He climbs up into the cockpit, barely taking a moment to rest before he’s launching himself up into the pilot’s chair, little legs dangling over the edge. 

Finally, he stands triumphant over the control panel, dark eyes scanning all the buttons and switches. They’re not lit up like he’s used to seeing, and his ears become lopsided as he tilts his head with intrigue. 

He turns his head and sees a switch lever, hidden flush with the wall. The child coos to himself at the discovery, something in him saying he needs to flip it. He shuffles over, eyeing the mechanism high over his head. 

He lifts his hand, feeling the Force flow through him easily. He directs it towards the switch lever, small hand trembling with the effort. The lever shifts before it flips up with a dull clank. 

The child falls back with a huff, blowing out a tired breath. 

There is a loud noise, the Crest groaning with the movement of durasteel, and the child’s big ears hear the sound of the gangplank lowering. The child smiles to himself.

He hopes he can find his father.

And maybe some frogs.

* * *

The lower deck of the Crest doesn’t take long to look through. 

The small space is a mess with the aftermath of the Mandalorian’s frantic searching. There are upturned crates and boxes, his weapons locker ajar after being slammed close with a frustrated growl. 

He turns to see Cara coming down the ladder from the cockpit, a small seed of hope that maybe the kid was up there—

She spins around, arms empty, and his stomach churns, the taste of bile at the back of his throat. He must have swayed on his feet because suddenly Cara is closer, a grounding hand on his arm.

“Hey!” She shouts, tapping at his helmet. “Don’t go passing out on me now.”

He chokes, “I-I gotta find him—”

“And we will. Just take a second. You’re still injured, remember?”

He hates it, but he obliges with a huff, and she pulls away while he takes a dizzying breath.

“Do you think someone took him?” She asks calmly, trying to be the diplomatic one, but it only serves to grate against his already raw nerves.

“No,” he grounds. He takes another breath despite how the room spins. “I locked down the Crest before I left. Nothing would’ve been able to get in besides me.”

“Which means the kid left on his own,” Cara concludes. “He shouldn’t have gotten far.”

“If someone found him—”

“Then we’ll get him back,” Cara cuts him off, voice hard and leaving no room for argument. “But I don’t imagine anyone’s been out here in awhile. Let’s just start searching the forest and we’ll circle around. Okay?”

“Okay,” he rasps.

“Good. I’ll go south.”

He nods sharply. They walk to the opening of the Crest, about to turn in opposite directions.

“Din,” she says, soft, catching his attention. He looks to her, his hands twitching at his sides. She regards him for a moment, something too fast for him to catch flickering across her face. Then, she grabs her blaster and shoves it beneath his palm. Eyes resolute and never wavering, she tells him, “We’re going to find him.”

He stares back wordlessly before turning away.

* * *

The Mandalorian can’t feel his leg anymore. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that it’s probably not a good thing. But frankly, his whole being feels numb, something awful and twisting beneath his bruised skin. 

He shuffles through the trees, headlamp swaying back and forth across the deep purple soil. He keeps an ear out for any strange noises, and the other reserved for Cara’s voice through the comms. 

“ _Ad’ika_?!” He shouts into the forest, his voice having gone raw with strain. “Where are you? I’m here!”

_But you weren’t before and now it may be too late._

His vision is focused on the vicinity, mind racing. 

_I should have fought harder. I should have been there._

His bare feet scrape across overgrown roots. 

_What kind of parent am I? To have let this happen?_

His bad leg catches on something and he stumbles helmet-first into a tree, fingers digging into the bark as he catches himself. It jostles his injured shoulder and he swallows back a pained groan, his eyes growing hot.

His breaths come harsh and ragged against his visor as he rests against the tree trunk, squeezing his eyes shut. _Stars above_ , he’d give anything to see his boy. To hold him, tell him how sorry he is, tell him how much he—

He exhales, feeling his muscles tremble against his will, and it takes all of his strength to open his eyes. He dry swallows, pushing off the tree shakily. 

He has to keep moving. 

He’ll face the consequences when he gets his son back.

He has to keep moving.

* * *

Kriff, how long has he been wandering the woods? It feels like a lifetime has passed, limping from tree to tree, the blaster from Cara heavy against his hip in a way it shouldn’t be. 

The longer he spends out here, the more he feels gravity’s pull to the dirt. His body is moving on auto-pilot, pure resolve and sickening desperation the only things pushing him forward. 

He comes to a pause, leaning heavily against a dark trunk, frowning at the endless forest stretching out into the horizon. 

He switches on his commlink, turning to the channel he has with Cara. 

“Anything?” He asks, unable to hide the dregs of hope bleeding into his tone. The comms crackle before he hears her voice.

“Not yet,” she answers, rather apologetic, and he sags with disappointment. “Nothing but crickets out here.” 

She pauses. 

“It may be best to start heading back, come up with a new plan. Yeah?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t want to think about what that means, doesn’t want to stop searching under every bush and stone until he’s certain, or cradling the most precious weight in his arms and never letting go. He slowly exhales through his mouth before acquiescing. 

“Okay. Heading back now.”

He thinks he senses Cara hesitant, like she wants to say something. She must decide against it, and he hears the comms go quiet.

He twists his head back and forth once more, surveying the landscape. Not a thing of interest stands out to him.

“ _Ad’ika_!” he calls, ignoring the way his voice cracks. Unsurprisingly, nothing is heard in return except for the steady thrum of cicadas. He sighs, setting his jaw. 

To himself, he murmurs, “Please come home.”

He stands there for a second, something tethering him to the spot. It isn’t long before his feet start moving back the way he came.

* * *

It is taking longer than he remembers to get back. With every step he takes, the forest seems to grow bigger. Or maybe he’s taking too many breaks.

He’s on his fourth rest, supporting his weight against a boulder. He doesn’t dare sit; he won’t be able to get up if he does. His chest heaves, every inhale of air sending spikes of pain through his ribs. He swallows drily, his throat parched, and wishes he had a container of water on him. 

He thinks of the child. Wonders if he’s in trouble, or hurt. _Oh stars, has he eaten?_

If he thinks hard enough, he can hear the child’s voice on the fringes of his mind. High-pitched and sweet, calling out to him. 

“Boo!”

The corner of his mouth curls up. He was just starting to teach the child simple terms in Mando’a. _Buir_ was one of many, but the child seemed to have taken a particular liking to it, even if he could only pronounce half the word.

“Boo-er!”

The child’s voice sounds closer, loud and shrill with glee.

He’s officially lost his mind. 

" _Buir_!”

At that, he snaps his head towards the voice, off to his left. He couldn’t have imagined that. He pushes off of the rock with more energy than he thought left, moving quickly.

“ _Ad’ika_!” He shouts back, eyes flitting all over the place. “I’m here!”

“ _Buir_! _Buir_!” His child exclaims. 

He spots him, the child running faster than he’s ever seen, and he can’t help the smile that splits his face. His arms are extended before he even realizes it.

He doesn’t know who gets there first, just that the child, _his_ child, whole and good, is suddenly scooped into his arms and he’s holding him so tight against his chestplate.

“ _Buir, buir, buir_ ,” he hears the child murmur, pressing himself as close as he can, blunt claws gripping his undershirt. 

A million questions run through the Mandalorian’s mind, but they’re all quickly forgotten. The sheer relief flooding his system with the familiar weight in his arms is almost overwhelming, and somewhere along the way his knees have hit the soil. He holds the kid impossibly closer, fingers ghosting over the child to check for injuries.

“I have you, it’s okay,” the Mandalorian tells his child. His eyes feel hot and he exhales shakily. The child nuzzles his face into his neck, beneath the lip of his helmet. With his free hand, the Mandalorian removes the barrier of his helmet, yearning to see the child with his own eyes.

“ _Gar morut’yc, cyar'ika_ ,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek atop the child’s head. “I got you.”

He rocks them back and forth, a steady hand splayed across the child’s back, and he isn’t sure if it’s for the child’s sake or his. 

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering. “I’m so sorry.”

_I should have fought harder. I should have came home that day._

“ _Ni ceta_ ,” his voice cracks, splinters at the edges. “ _Ni ceta, ni ceta_.”

He inhales, exhales, focuses on the child’s warmth and how satisfying it feels to hold him again. The child clings tighter.

“I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. I don’t know what you were thinking, but… I would never leave you. Not if I can help it. Understand, _ad’ika_?”

The child doesn’t respond. He takes a breath.

“I love you,” he says. The truth of it hits him square in the chest, hard and fierce, and it sets ablaze that once-nameless feeling in his ribcage, completely unfurled and threatening to swallow him whole. His heart swells, and with all the conviction he can muster, he states, “ _Ni kar’taylir gar darasuum, ad’ika._ ”

The child pulls away, staring up at him with those bottomless eyes. The child smiles, wide and unadulterated, and it’s the best thing he’s seen in a long time. 

Then, the child places small palms against the Mandalorian’s cheeks. The child tugs, and he follows easily until their foreheads are resting together. He inhales, and the child pats his cheek, cooing softly, and he understands. 

_It’s okay._

_I forgive you._

_I love you too._

The Mandalorian smiles. 

Suddenly, he hears his comm activate and the far away, tinny voice of Cara.

“Djarin! Do I need to drag you out of there?”

He slips on his helmet, and starts to stand, cradling the child to him.

“I got him,” he responds. He hears Cara’s sigh of relief.

“Thank the kriffing stars. You need to put him on a leash or something. Maybe a bell.”

He hums noncommittally. As if he’s letting the kid out of his sight any time soon. 

He replies, “We’re heading back now.”

“See you soon, Mando.”

As they make their way back to the Razor Crest, the Mandalorian can’t help but feel lighter, comforted by the little coos of his child, safe and sound against him.

The last piece of _home_ shifts into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
>  _Ad'ika_ = little one, child  
>  _Buir_ = father, parent  
>  _Gar morut'yc_ = you're safe  
>  _Cyar'ika_ = darling, sweetheart, beloved  
>  _Ni ceta_ = sorry (lit: I kneel); grovelling apology  
>  _Ni kar'taylir gar darasuum_ = I hold you in my heart (lit: I love you)
> 
> \---
> 
> He said it!!! He finally admitted he caught feelings!!
> 
> Aaannd that's a wrap! I can't thank you all enough for reading, leaving kudos, and for all the wonderful, lovely comments I've received every chapter (especially the last one hehe). It means the world to me that you all joined in on this little adventure! I definitely plan on writing more for our space boys so feel free to follow me here or on my Tumblr. Thanks so much for everything and till next time ;) <3333
> 
> Also, shout out to my beautiful waifu [shut-up-andlisten](https://shut-up-andlisten.tumblr.com/) for beta reading! Love ya <333

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think by commenting/leaving kudos! Thanks so much for reading and hope you're doing okay. Have a good day/night <333
> 
> Also follow me on [Tumblr](https://asunachinadoll.tumblr.com) and yell at me about these boisssss


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